The Holmes & Watson Times
by wattsuptietjens
Summary: Little snipets of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson as they go on to solve crimes and live their lives. Platonic Love; may grow into more. Johnlock. BBC Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes was once again, hunched over himself, staring in deep concentration at the wall, gun in hand. Dr. John Watson observed from the flat's kitchen. As John poured boiling tea in the ceramic glass, he looked over at Sherlock and noticed he was scratching the back of his head with his gun. John was always nervous whenever Sherlock did that. He was afraid he was going to accidentally shoot himself, but he knew he wouldn't as well.

"Black. Two sugars. Leave the spoon in," Sherlock piped up after a long silence.

"I was making tea, not coffee," John stammered.

"Well, you will be now," Sherlock said with a monotone voice, then repeated his order, "Black. Two sugars. Leave the spoon."

John sighed as he brought out another pot and began grinding coffee beans. His right leg ached as he bent down to retrieve his items. Footsteps were heard coming up the stairs outside their open front doorway. The steps would most likely be Mrs. Hudson, and the two men were right.

Without looking Sherlock called out, "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. Did you find everything you need at the grocery shop?" He quickly put his gun within a wooden box, hidden away from Mrs. Hudson's sight. He knew how upset Mrs. Hudson became at the sight of guns, especially after he went on a shooting spree when he became bored and started firing at the wall. After all, he was bored.

"Oh Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson began as she put grocery bags on their kitchen table, "How'd you know I went to the grocery shop?"

Without hesitation, Sherlock answered, "I heard your bags. Let me guess, eggs, flour, and sugar were the important items. I heard the polystyrene foam egg container rubbing against the paper bags of the flour, sugar and the grocery bag itself."

"Poly?" Mrs. Hudson tried to repeat.

"Styrofoam," Sherlock explained quickly.

"Brilliant, you are," John murmured quietly to himself.

"Thank you," Sherlock smirked.

John smirked as well as he continued with the tea and coffee, "Mrs. Hudson, would you like a cuppa?"

"Oh no, John," she put some canned goods on the kitchen counter, "I have to go start baking for the bake sale tomorrow! All proceeds go to the local shelter and there's even a competition for best taste and best decoration! Oh, I hope I win at least one this year!"

"Well, good luck," John smiled at Mrs. Hudson as she grabbed her bags and left to her flat.

As soon as Mrs. Hudson was out of ear-shot, Sherlock announced, "She's going to come in second place again this year…" he furrowed his brows in concentration, "in the decorating competition."

John dropped down the two cups sternly, "And how do you know this?"

"Because she does every year, and I said two sugars, not three," Sherlock immediately got up from his crouching position, walked over the coffee table, and glided into the kitchen to pour his cuppa down the drain. He decided to make his own cuppa the correct way. John looked up at the ceiling and sighed as Sherlock took over the coffee and tea making._ He always does this_, John thought.

* * *

John watched as Sherlock observed the crime scene. What Sherlock did was always amazing as he could pin point any sort of information needed within a quick glance. However, you had to listen to him closely and intently as he rambled with his monotone voice in a long monologue.

"…and that's how the killer managed to get the suitcase all the way over to Liverpool without it going off," Sherlock finished.

As the investigators were shocked by the way Sherlock handled the case ("It's so obvious!" he dismissed quickly.), and stunned by his performance, John just merely leaned back onto the wall behind him and folded his arms over his chest as he watched the crew wrap up the scene. A smirk grew on his face as Sherlock looked over at him and winked.

John winked back and chuckled to himself, "9," he called out to the other man.

Sherlock nodded and continued packing up the materials that the other crew members supposedly needed.

* * *

The two men were sitting across from each other at the table they always sit at, at the pub they always went to. The owner always had to remind Sherlock on how he saved him from going to prison every time they visited, and Sherlock would always correct the owner on how he still went to prison anyways. And as always, the table had candles set up between them.

Tea for Sherlock, and a slice of the raspberry cheesecake for John. Sherlock would occasionally take a bite of the dessert and stare off into the street as he savored the fruit on his tongue.

The two men needn't hold hands, or to sit next to each other to show affection. Just being in each other's presence was enough for one another. Sherlock put down his fork after taking a bite of dessert and as John was reaching to take the fork for his own bite, he grazed Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock's thought process had stopped. You could tell by how he looked up and glossed his eyes over to John. John meekly looked up and bit his tongue. He could see Sherlock's eyes grew red and tired. He's been solving puzzles all day and John had to sit there and try his best to understand what was going through his other half's mind.

Fingertips still touched as Sherlock looked away from John, "I've grown tired, you?"

John nodded, "Yes. Want to take this home and finish it there?"

Sherlock faintly smiled, "Sure, why not? But let's get another slice while at it."

* * *

The curly haired man was playing his violin in front of the left window overlooking the street below their flat. All while John was mindlessly reading _The Guardian_. John knew not to bother Sherlock as he was playing his instrument, for he was thinking. At least Sherlock was speaking every once in a while. When the two first met, Sherlock would go days without speaking, and he still would on occasion.

John let the newspaper fall onto the coffee table and turned on the television on a low volume setting. Sometimes he could only read the news so much before he just watched it instead of reading. Even more, sometimes he wished there were some sort of violence on the television. It reminded him of his military days and gave him flashbacks of the war in Afghanistan.

So far, nothing. He turned the television off hastily and turned towards Sherlock. He was gone. Instead of being in the front window, he was pacing the flat. John was surprised that he didn't notice this at first.

"Where?" Sherlock would ask aloud every couple of paces. He'd crouch down into cabinets and shelves, ruining the organization and leaving a mess on the floor.

"Sherlock," John exclaimed, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sherlock picked up a human skull and found what he was looking for, "Ah! My fags! I've been missing these."

"Sherlock, no!" John exclaimed as he pulled the box out of the detectives hands, "You said whenever you have a craving, I have to take these away from you." A second later, the detective launched himself at John and tackled him.

John was bent over as Sherlock wrapped his arms around the other mans shoulders, "I haven't had a case. I'm bored, and I'm craving. Now give me what I need," the detective hissed into his other half's ear.

"You don't need these, Sherlock!" John tossed the box into a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. Quickly, Sherlock let go of John and went after his fags but was met by John coming for him and pulling him away from the clothes on the floor. He quickly threw the detective down on the floor and pulled his hands behind his back, "I said no!"

A knock was heard at the front door, "Oh boys, are we having a domestic?"

Sherlock and John quickly pulled apart and stood up, dusting themselves off after their hands on argument. Sherlock paced into the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

"Everything is fine, Mrs. Hudson," John shrugged.

"So, if you weren't having an argument, were you-"

"No," the two men stopped her question, "No, just trying to find something and John wouldn't let me," Sherlock continued.

"Oh let him have what he wants, John," Mrs. Hudson said as she began cleaning up the mess left on the floor.

John sighed, and retrieved the box of fags from the dirty clothing. He tossed the box without looking and heard Sherlock catch them seconds later. Then heard the box hit the kitchen counter. He looked over as he heard Sherlock, "I don't need them."

"But you just-" John stammered. He began walking over to the other man.

"Mrs. Hudson, you don't have to clean up after us," Sherlock looked over Johns shoulder, "You're not our housekeeper, remember?" he smiled.

John laughed as he put the fags to the back of the counter and moved the now boiling water to a cool stove top. He found tea bags, set them in, and watched as Sherlock took out a box of biscuits and ate a few.

"That's what I've been telling you for years," Mrs. Hudson reminded the two men, "Well, if you two are alright now, I'll leave you alone," she turned to leave their flat, "Goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson," both men said in unison. After a few moments of silence, the two men began laughing.

"Well, that was silly of us," Sherlock announced as he poured the hot water over his tea bag. John put two spoons of sugar in the cup for the other man and watched as he consumed the tea, "Are you officially ready to retire?"

John sighed deeply, and tiredly, "Yes, yes I am."

"Good," Sherlock put his now half-empty mug onto the counter and began walking into his bedroom.

John shuffled across the living room towards his own bedroom before he was stopped, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Bed," John answered, "What do you think?"

"Yes, but your bed is in here."

John stopped in his tracks and peered around the wall into the dark room that was Sherlock's. He saw light outlines of Sherlock's body as he was changing into his pyjamas, "We normally sleep in separate bedrooms."

"Not tonight," Sherlock sat upon his bed and stared outside, looking into the night sky. John could see his other half's face by the illumination of the moon.

John quickly changed into his pyjamas and walked into Sherlock's bedroom. This time, the other man was now laying in the bed, sheets wrapped fully around him, "Alright now," John began, "how do I get sheets if you have all of them?" John rested himself into bed and looked over at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled over, his curly hair everywhere. He held open the sheets, "You have to come and get some of the sheets then," he smiled and chuckled. Sherlock hardly ever joked around, but when he did, he was damn cute, John thought. John saw that his other half only had pyjama pants on, and he gulped.

"Well?" Sherlock asked, "Do you want some sheets or not?"

"Okay, fine," John rolled over and stopped mid-motion. He grew curious as he saw Sherlock's smile turn tight into a smirk, "Sherlock?" he grew wary, "What are you doing? This isn't funny…"

Seconds later, without thought or time to register, Sherlock pounced onto John, who quickly exclaimed, "Sherlock!"


	2. Chapter 2

The situation was a flurry, a rush. Sherlock was onto something. He was so close to solving the case, he could taste it. At 221B, he ran around, climbing furniture, and collecting the items he needed to solve the case. Weaving in and out of the forensics team, Sally Donovan, Greg Lestrade, and Anderson. He came across his bookshelf once more and stopped dead in his tracks. Sherlock slowly turned his heel and began wiggling each book one by one.

Finally, Sherlock heard it. Very faintly, a hollow book with clunking inside. He took said book off the shelf and instantly felt the light weight of the supposed thick and heavy book and opened the cover to find pages upon pages cut and hollowed out. Within the hollowed of paper was a thick, brass key. Sherlock took the key out and examined it closely, but to no avail, no details were to be found. He closed the book with a snap and dropped it on the coffee table, still trying to examine the key for clues.

John, who was watching whilst sitting on the couch, took the book and began examining the cover and pages, noticing that the words were in French. He opened the book and turned the pages until he came upon where the cut out pages stopped. Within the cut out box of pages, John tried to read the lines. However, he couldn't understand. He knew someone here understood different languages, but who?

"John, we're leaving!" Sherlock called out as he descended the stairs of 221B, tying his scarf.

John quickly got up and began following until he heard a faint, "Cazzo." Among Donovan, Lestrade, Anderson and himself leaving the flat, he heard all of them muttering things along the lines of, "Here we go again," and "Look at the freak go." However, Anderson was muttering something incoherent. As if he was speaking another language...

John quickly ran back into the flat and grabbed the book to bring back down, "Anderson!"

"Yes, Doctor Watson?" Anderson called out dryly as he looked up from the bottom of the stairs. John clambered down the stairs and handed over the book that he was looking at before the team left, "Can you decode this language? I heard you speaking in tongues and thought maybe you'd understand what's written here... Where the last page was cut out."

Anderson stared at John for a couple of seconds, then looked at the book as he took the item out of John's hand. He looked up at John quickly, "The last page after the cut out you said?" John nodded curtly. Anderson scanned the pages then came up to said page after the last cutout.

"Can you decipher?" John asked as he looked at Anderson's scanning eyes.

"John! A cab is coming!" Sherlock called out, "Get over here... please," he stammered impatiently.

Anderson showed the book to John and pointed out a certain paragraph with his index finger, "You see here? It's describing the scene were Briar Rose pricks her finger and falls into the 100 year deep sleep," he slammed the book and gave it back to John, "_La Belle au Bois Dormant_ is loosely translated into _Sleeping Beauty_ in French."

John accepts the book and holds the item close to him. After another frustrated calling from Sherlock, he leaves the flat completely and hops into the cab, not noticing Anderson's gaze as he does so.

* * *

"The injections make them fall asleep!" Sherlock called out in the empty warehouse, beginning to pace.

"Yes, I already explained that to you in the cab," John said softly as he kept looking through_ La Belle au Bois Dormant_. All of the other forensics team was back the labs testing evidence, leaving the two men alone. John finally closed the book with a snap and placed it on a nearby table, "How come you never listen to me?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, still looking away from John, mostly towards the ceiling. He placed his hands in his pockets, "I do listen to you. All the time."

"Then you would have known the answer quicker than now by listening to me earlier in the cab," John raised his voice.

Sherlock slowly turned towards the doctor and examined him as he spoke, the doctor getting more furious. He noticed that John wasn't actually angry, he was just raising his voice to be heard. His echos sounding through the empty warehouse. When John was breathless after his rant, the doctor just looked up and stared at the detective, waiting for a response.

"Do you know how much I do for you? How much I have to care after you? How much I care about you?" John stopped quickly, his eyes growing wide. He wasn't supposed to say the last statement. He quickly started mentally kicking himself.

Sherlock smirked as he began walking towards John, "How much you care about me? So you admit it?"

The doctor sighed and stammered, "Yes, quite frankly, I do. You are my friend, and I-" he gasped before he continued. He almost said his secret. His secret was quite obvious the way he acted around his Adonis-like detective, but he still wasn't sure how his flat mate would feel about such words.

"You what?" Sherlock's nose scrunched in concentration, surely he was trying to read John.

"Nothing, it's..." John brushed off imaginary dust of his chest, "nothing."

"No please, do tell me," Sherlock began his hip wiggle as he stood in front of John, "It's just us. No one else is going to hear."

"I can't tell you."

"You've already told me many things before, why not now?"

"That's because you read my e-mails!" John began to get heated again.

"John, we're partners-" John's breath hitched at that word. Sherlock stopped and furrowed his eyebrows. After a few seconds, he inhaled and continued on, "on a forensics team, and flatmates. I'm pretty sure you can tell me anything."

"You're going to use this information against me, I know it!"

Sherlock smirked and shrugged, "Maybe. It depends on what you say," he leaned in a little closer towards John. He expected John to come up with something barbaric such as forgetting to do the laundry this week, tucking him into bed when he last had that cold (he felt that one when John thought he was asleep), or maybe even taking his credit card to get groceries without asking. But he didn't expect this, never this.

"Sherlock, I love you," John finally said with no inhibitions. He stared straight into the detectives eyes, waiting for a response. Sherlock didn't say anything back, in fact, he literally stepped back and his eyes began shifting all around the empty room. His mouth opened and closed and few times, most likely trying to find something to say, but nothing came out. Sherlock was speechless, a very rare thing for anyone who worked with such a man.

Sherlock looked away from John, down towards the floor and blinked a few times before walking away towards the warehouse door, "Sherlock..." John called after him, "Sherlock?"

John grabbed the book on the table and quickly left after Sherlock, "Is everything alright?" But the detective didn't answer.

* * *

In fact, Sherlock didn't speak to John for another week. True to his word when they first met, that he'd not speak for days at a time, but this was the longest Sherlock ever got. He at least mutter a few words by now.

John decided to put him the spot. If he didn't answer him when they were in private, he must have at least the decency to speak to him when people are around. When the next case rolled around and once again the forensics team were in 221B, and once again Sherlock was about to leave in a hurry to follow the team, John just merely called out, "I'm going to stay here."

"Alright fine," Sherlock interrupted, "Too much people call for unnecessary space."

"Be safe,"_ this is your chance, John_, "I love you," he said it loud enough so Sherlock could hear, however that meant Lestrade and Mycroft could hear as well. They both stopped in their tracks and looked at Sherlock for his response.

Sherlock's eyes grew a frenzy again and he slowly turned on his heel towards John. His head bowed low as he looked into the doctors eyes.

John gulped as he waited for an answer, occasionally looking as Sally Donovan, Anderson, and Ms. Hudson left the flat. However, Lestrade and Mycroft stood in the same spot as before, simply watching Sherlock for an answer.

The detective walked up to the doctor slowly and was inches away from each others faces when he stopped, "Here? Now?" he asked in hushed whispers.

"I want an answer," John rocked on his heel and took a deep breath, "I'm waiting."

Sherlock blinked and looked taken aback, "I don't have to tell you anything," he hissed.

"Oh, I wish you would," John nodded, "Just tell me the truth. I don't care at this point."

"But-"

"No, tell me the truth, I don't care what it is. Break my heart if you have to," John went stone face.

Sherlock nodded over towards Lestrade and Mycroft, "What about them?" he whispered.

"Friend," John pointed at Lestrade, "Family," he gestured towards Mycroft, "They can listen in."

John's blue eyes stared into Sherlocks intently, hoping for the answer he was looking for. _Just tell me already_, John was getting impatient.

Sherlock got close to John once more, "Lestrade, Mycroft, please leave. Now."

"He even used 'please,' how nice of him," Mycroft said as he sauntered off with his trusty umbrella. Lestrade still stood there.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock looked at him.

"Oh, just tell him already! It's quite obvious!" Lestrade crossed his arms and shook his head at Sherlock, knowing full and well that the word 'obvious' was his word.

Sherlock grimaced and quickly turned back to John, "Fine, only on one condition. No PDA. I don't want anyone to see."

Now it was John's turn to cross his arms, "You didn't tell me what I wanted to hear."

Sherlock sighed, "What does it matter?"

"It matters to me!" leaned into the detective.

"Just tell him, Sherlock!" Lestrade chimed in.

"Fine!" Sherlock raised his hands in frustration, then quickly pulled them back down to his sides, "I..." he looked around before looking back to John's eyes, "I love you too."

John smiled.

"But none of this goes out to anyone," he turned to Lestrade and pointed, "You understand?"

"Won't say a thing," Lestrade smiled and went down the stairs.

"See, wasn't so hard," John smirked. He quickly leaned forward all the way while he had the chance and kissed his flatmates cheek before he descended the stairs as well. Leaving Sherlock to stand there in bewilderment.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's eyes were closed as he was laying on the sofa, breathing in and out deeply. His fingertips touching as his hands were softly laying on his mouth. John couldn't tell if he was sleeping or in his mind palace. 'Well, his hands weren't moving about in crazy fashions, so he may be sleeping,' John thought.

John quietly as he could grabbed his keys and was heading out the door until he heard deep mumbling, "Where do you think you're going?"

The doctor sighed as his shoulders dropped, "Out."

"Not anymore," Sherlock's eyes opened, "I need you to give me my mobile."

"Alright, where is it," John already started looking. Sherlock pointed to his jacket which was hanging on the back of a kitchen chair, "Ah yes," John continued, "A mere 5 feet away from you. At least it wasn't in your pant pocket this time. I would've smacked you instead."

John retrieved the mobile and handed it over to his partner, in which Sherlock merely took the item and stuffed it in his pocket before getting up from the sofa and walking to the kitchen himself to retrieve a glass for tea. John blinked once or twice, then turned on his heel towards the detective and sighed, "Are you serious?"

Sherlock double glanced over at John, "What," he shrugged, his eyes growing wide. 'Do I suspect fear?' he thought to himself.

"You could've done that yourself," John was growing aggravated.

"Well..." Sherlock fumbled with his cup of tea and grew quiet. No one made him speechless, ever. He looked away from John towards the counter and remained quiet, he looked almost sad.

"Well what?" John started stepping towards the tall, sad man, "How are you going to defend yourself this time? What wit have you got up your sleeve?" John crossed his arms when he reached the taller man.

Sherlock pursed his lips for a second then looked at John in the eyes, "I'm... I'm..." John leaned forward expectantly, "sorry," Sherlock's eyes softened.

John stepped back, mockingly surprised, "Sherlock Holmes apologizes! I should call the newspapers for that one... or," he grinned evilly, and nodded towards his laptop, "write it on the blog."

Sherlock's eyes grew wide again as he stepped towards John, "No! Don't you dare!"

The doctor made a dash to the laptop on the desk with the detective shortly behind him. John grabbed the device and held it up close to his chest, "No you won't!" Sherlock wrapped his arms around John from behind trying to tear away the laptop, "I should be saying that to you!"

John bent over the desk to push the laptop further away from his partner, which caused a domino effect of Sherlock leaning over John. The doctor managed to push away the device and was now holding onto the desk for balance, as Sherlock was launching himself further over the smaller man to retrieve the item. After much grunting and panting later, Sherlock backed off of John and started walking around the desk and reached for the laptop. He was determined to hide it.

But not after John grabbed Sherlock's waist and pulled him with all of his might down to the floor, "No you don't!" With a loud, thunk, the two men landed on each other, panting. Sherlock rolled over onto John and pinned him down, "You're not going to get away with this," he tried to scramble up to the desk again.

John scrambled as well and just as the detective was about to grab the device, he managed to reach past Sherlock's hand and push the laptop away. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and grunted, "I said no you don't. You're not a very good listener are you?"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Oh ha, ha, you're very funny," John pulled Sherlock to the floor again.

Both cried out in pain, well- more like soreness, as they each landed on the floor again. But this time, they stayed there. Sherlock and John were facing the sofa, their backs getting warm from the fireplace.

"Hey," John said aloud, "turn around."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder before doing as he was told, and was greeted by a warm smile and light laugh. He was confused, "I thought you were angry at me. I'm trying to read you, but you're too confusing."

"Stop trying to deduce me," John smiled as he pulled Sherlock closer, leaving his hand on the detective's waist, "Unlike you, I can actually get over something fairly quickly."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Right," the detective looked back at his partner and noticed a gleam in his eyes. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out John's next move. He noticed that John was ever so slowly leaning in closer to Sherlock's face, a slight smirk growing on his face.

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned in as well. John's lips were soft- new toothbrush, Sherlock detected. They kept going for a minute or two, no more than lips. John's hand traveled to Sherlock's back, bringing him even closer, as Sherlock's hand rested on John's neck.

When they finally broke apart, John sighed. Sherlock smiled at John and tilted his head, "Dinner?"

John chucked, "You idiot!" and started laughing harder, "Sure, sure, now help me up!"

The two men got ready to go to a local Chinese restaurant Sherlock wanted to try. With coats on and scarfs ready, the climbed down the stairs and found Mrs. Hudson rearranging some things about the front room.

"You two going out tonight?" Mrs. Hudson asked aloud.

"Yes, we'll be back shortly though," Sherlock smiled at her, "No more than an hour."

"I was going to bring you something upstairs, but with all the noise, I didn't want to disrupt your domestic," Mrs. Hudson continued. Sherlock and John exchanged glances, thankful that she didn't walk in on them, but they thought too soon, "However, when you two got quiet, I thought everything was okay. Turns out you were just finishing up your session," Mrs. Hudson continued.

The detective's and doctor's smiles grew tight, unable to utter a word. Once again, their landlady continued, "You two looked quite lovely though as if you two were mad for each other all cuddled up on the floor holding each other close and-"

"That's enough, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock interrupted, "We should be going now."

"Ah yes," their landlady shooed them away for the night.

When they were out of view of their landlady, John tried to hold Sherlock's hand but had been pushed away, "I think I've had enough PDA for one night," Sherlock spoke.

"Hmm," John smirked, "I'll have to try again later."


	4. Chapter 4

John let out a frustrated grunt in the kitchen as he looked through the cabinets. In every cabinet were experiments that Sherlock filled with… but no jam. He even checked in the fridge once again just in case he didn't see it before. Nope, it wasn't there either.

"John! The game is on!" Sherlock stomped through the flat grabbing both of the men's coats and heading down the stairs. The other man sighed as he dragged his feet out of the kitchen. He felt lighter, but that was only because he hasn't eaten in the past few days. 'This must be how Sherlock feels during a case,' John thought.

"What are you crying about?" Sherlock asked allowed in the cab as John crawled inside.

"I was just looking for the jam for a quick snack, but no, there's none!" John said.

"Oh boo-hoo, John" the taller man said uninterested and stone-faced, "There's a murder taken place a couple miles out of town and you're busy worrying about feeding yourself."

"I'm sorry that I'm not like you and can't starve a few days at a time," John stammered, slowly raising his voice, "I'll try better next week."

Sherlock tried to shush John, "Shh!" but John wasn't having any of Sherlock's nonsense. He continued, "First, you spoil the milk with your experiments, and now my jam! Where the hell did it go?"

"I had to see if the milk poisoned the victim and if it didn't, he was guilty!" Sherlock tried to defend himself.

"And my jam?" John crossed his arms, his eyes grew wide.

"I… accidentally threw it out," Sherlock avoided his lovers gaze. John narrowed his eyes and stared at his boyfriend as the cab drove by plenty of buildings, soon turning into pastures and farms, and finally a small village. Not blinking. Sherlock kept staring at the floor of the cab.

"You know, you could just buy another carton of milk and jam," the cabbie said as the vehicle came to a halt at the crime scene.

John scoffed as he exited the vehicle away from Sherlock and headed towards the scene. Sherlock looked at the cabbie through his rearview mirror, "Thank you for your input," quickly smirked and left the cab as well.

Before Sherlock could ask what the situation was, John interjected, "They think it's a suicide. That this man jumped in front of a car."

"But then where's the car that hit him?" Sherlock started looking around the dirt road and only saw parked cars and the blocked off signs. He examined the body a little more and saw that the victims shirt was up on his torso. Heavy bruising was seen on his right side as the victim was laying face down, but his face was looking towards the left, "He's an American," he blurted, "It was a hit and run accident."

"What, how?" Lestrade walked towards the two men and greeted John with a handshake. He noticed that John wasn't as friendly as he normally was, avoiding Sherlock's gaze and folding his arms tightly. He came to the conclusion that they must of had a domestic before arriving.

"Bruises and quite possibly broken bones on his right side. He was crossing the street but looking towards the left side of town because Americans normally look left-right-left before crossing a street instead of the opposite. The car that hit him was speeding through town because his bones were broken, but the impact was so hard and fast, it killed the victim instantly. The driver panicked and kept driving, hoping no one saw. However, this is a small town. Small population. We may not have any witnesses, but-" Sherlock's monologue was interrupted.

"But what?" Anderson scoffed at Sherlock, "Let me guess, someone on a mountain saw the whole ordeal and now we have to scrounge around the village to find the witness."

"No," Sherlock was taken aback, "Just follow the tire marks on the road," he pointed to the ground where sure enough there were two long lines leading towards more pastures.

John tried to hide his smile of how proud he was of his love every time he got something right, but he needed to prove that he was still mad at him for the situation earlier on in the day.

* * *

The two men were sitting at a window seat to a cafe within the village the case was taken place. Sherlock was mindlessly looking out the window as John was ordering off the menu.

"Roasted chicken panini and…" he looked up to Sherlock, "You?"

Sherlock squinted his eyes as he kept looking outside, "What day is it?" his fist tucked under his chin. John dropped the menu and sighed in a frustrated manner, "Thursday."

Sherlock waved his hand, "I'm good for another couple of days." Noticing the waiters look of confusion and concern, John put a hand up towards the waiter, 'Just give me a second with this guy.' John leaned in towards his lover, "Sherlock, you need to eat. What are you having?"

After a few quiet seconds, Sherlock picked up the menu, glanced at it, and gave it to the waiter, "Nothing, I'm fine."

"He'll have the ham and cheese with chips on the side. Hot, please," John answered for Sherlock.

"I said nothing," Sherlock gritted through his teeth.

"You will have dinner with me, that's an order!" John slammed his fist on the table, then looked up to the waiter, "Our order please," he dismissed him. Sherlock tried to get the waiter to stop by reaching out and grabbing him, but the waiter was far away now.

"I won't eat it," Sherlock hissed.

"Yes you will," John demanded him. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, watching the man he loves squirm. Sherlock mimicked John by folding his arms as well and looking out the window with a look of anger on his face. However, it was no ordinary anger. John thought he looked like a little boy having a temper tantrum.

When the food came, John immediately started devouring the meal and only realized that Sherlock didn't touch his plate after half of his sandwich was gone, "Sherlock! Come on!"

Sherlock merely shook his head, a look of disinterest on his face.

"I ordered that for you, please," John kept looking at his lover, "Please, for me?" he scrunched his eyebrows together and stared intently at Sherlock, "Please?" he asked once more.

By this time, Sherlock had slumped a little in his chair. He closed his eyes and rolled them while closed so John wouldn't see and looked at his meal in front of him when he opened them again. His stomach started growling as he kept looking and thinking about his decision.

'I just finished a case, so the food and digestion won't slow me down. But it's Thursday. I have one more day left before I absolutely need food…' he thought. Before he could finish his thoughts, John pushed himself away from the table and took his wallet to the waiter. He began paying for the food and got himself two to-go containers. Sherlock looked as this all happened to the right of him. He felt his face drop and his childish anger melt away. Sherlock for once, felt bad for what he had done.

John had came back and laid the containers on the table. He took Sherlock's plate and began packing away the detective's food. Sherlock reached for the sandwich to take at least a bite. Hopefully it would calm John down, but John slapped Sherlock's hand making the food fall out of his hands. John quickly packed everything up, leaving no room for Sherlock to apologize.

"All I ask is for you to eat because you haven't in a few days, and this is how you repay me," John gritted through his teeth.

"John, I understand that you are upset-" the detective tried to calm down the doctor, starting to rub the others arm.

"Upset?" John shot up straight and tall. He spoke as low as he could muster while still packing the food, "You think I'm upset? I'm angry. I'm furious! First, you perform experiments on my food… without telling me. Now, you're not eating, and in public!" John was surely getting outraged, "I've had enough of your shit, Sherlock. All I asked was for a couple of bites, and you can't even do that. You act so childish, sulking and slipping down your chair, and that's not even the worst of my problems. You're a grown man, grow up!"

John closed both containers and quickly walked away towards outside, trying to hail a cab. Sherlock saw that some of the people in the cafe had witnessed their argument. He immediately felt even more horrible than before.

* * *

John was pacing the flat at three in the morning while Sherlock was sitting on the couch observing the doctor.

"You said that wasn't the worst problem," Sherlock stated aloud.

John stopped in his tracks and looked over at the detective, "Excuse me, what?"

"At the cafe earlier tonight," Sherlock put his hands together and placed them on his chin, "you said that out of all the things I did tonight, that wasn't the worst of your problems."

John sighed and rubbed his eyes. They were turning bloodshot from how late they were staying up, "Sherlock, I'd rather not talk about it right now. It's late. We should be sleeping."

All was silent before Sherlock piped up, "Am I a problem to you?"

John quickly stopped his pacing and looked at Sherlock, "No! Of course not!" a little disheartened that the love of his life would ever think such a thought, "You're not a problem to me."

Sherlock just simply stared at John with nothing to say. John continued, "It's just what you do sometimes is a problem, not you yourself. Understand?" Sherlock looked away and got up from the sofa, walking towards the closet to get his trench coat.

"You should go to bed," Sherlock said softly, "You look extremely tired. In fact," he looked at the doctor, "you are," he popped his collar and began heading out the door.

"And where do you think you're going?" John called after him.

"Go to sleep, John," Sherlock called from downstairs, "I'll be home soon."

"Sherlock!"

"Go to bed!"

* * *

The next morning, John woke up to mechanical noises… and the smell of warm bread. Confused, he clambered out of bed and walked down the hall to find Sherlock making concoctions on the kitchen counter.

"Sherlock?" John scratched his head and mumbled.

"Morning, John!" his love said loudly, and smiled tightly, "I made you breakfast! Part of it's in the fridge though!" Sherlock made his way around the kitchen, quickly setting a plate together of finished toast and cereal. When he put the plate and bowl on the counter and wiped his hands on his trench coat, he looked up at John and smiled again, "Go," he nodded towards the fridge, "Go look in the fridge. I have a surprise for you."

John chuckled to himself and walked over to the fridge. He heard Sherlock sniffle a couple of times and saw him wipe his nose on his coat, "You alright Sherlock? I didn't feel you get into bed at all and you're wide awake this morning. Hell, you're even smiling. Like, full on smiling."

Sherlock shrugged and rocked back and forth on his heels as he observed John opening the fridge, "Oh Sherlock, you got more milk!" John turned towards his boyfriend, and smiled at him. He shrugged and placed the carton on the counter. Sherlock shrugged once more and tightly smiled again as he observed John.

John sighed and hung his head when he saw the second part of his surprise. He brought out the jar of jam with a yellow sticky note that said, "I love you." He showed Sherlock and began chuckling, "Really now? I'm afraid my consulting detective has gone soft," he placed the jar on the counter as well and began preparing his breakfast. Then, John saw it. A little away from his breakfast, how could he have missed this, was Sherlock's dinner from last night. All was left was the crust and a few chips.

"You ate your dinner from last night too? Bloody hell, what's gotten into you?" John walked over to Sherlock and sarcastically checked his foreheads temperature.

Sherlock pointed to a basket on the coffee table in the living room as well, "Fresh fruit."

John sighed once more, "You really went the whole nine yards, didn't you?"

Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows. John has never seen Sherlock so happy and chipper… and he actually liked it. He could even forget what happened yesterday all together, in fact, he was. He was so impressed with Sherlock. John got up on his toes and kissed the detective on the cheek, "I like this Sherlock. I like him a lot. Whatever you did to get this way," he winked and smirked, "keep doing it," he headed back over to his breakfast that his love prepared for him, unknowingly giving his boyfriend the worst advice he could ever give.


	5. Chapter 5

As weeks passed, Sherlock still kept the happier side of him alive and well for John to see. Often making breakfast and actively eating more than every couple of days. Now it was just every other day. John was impressed for the first week, but then started to get intrigued as to why Sherlock was acting this way.

However, with each night and case passing, Sherlock would sit on the edge of his bed when he thought John was sleeping or when he was alone in the bedroom and rest his head in his hands. Words would fill his mind with all kinds of rubbish and Sherlock try his best to swat them away. These words and soon voices would tell them that he's worthless, and useless on a constant basis. He would use what people would call cockiness to rid of said voices, such as admitting that he was brilliant and amazing, two of John's favorites, but the forensics team would roll their eyes and make fun of the 'freak' whenever Sherlock concurred to John's and possibly other peoples statements, making him feel even more guilty and lonely than before.

* * *

"Oh, come on, Sherlock," the suited man said in the poorly lit side of the hallway, "We both know you can't resist."

The well dressed man gracefully held out a bag of white powder in his palm. Sherlock without thought reached out to the bag to obtain it from the other, but the suited man quickly concealed it from view. The detective grabbed air and gently let it go, slowly putting his arm down. Sherlock wanted the drug and he wanted it bad.

"Tell me how you did it, sir," the suited man hissed, never showing his face in the light.

With wide eyes, wanting- no needing the powder so bad, his mouth slowly went agape as he bluntly began to tell his deductions in a monotone voice.

* * *

John was pacing the flat, running his hands through his hair. He heard loud footsteps coming up to 221B and went to look downstairs only to find Mrs. Hudson running up. He left the door open as Mrs. Hudson walked inside with a tray of warm bread and butter.

"Oh dear," she put the tray on the kitchen table, moving some experiments out of the way, "Maybe some food'll do you good."

"Did you hear anything? From Sherlock or the crew? Anyone?" John stared at Mrs. Hudson.

She solemnly shook her head and sighed deeply. Folding her arms, she walked to John and faced him. John's hair was wild through so many hand runs, and he looked exhausted, his eyes were red. Mrs. Hudson softly touched John's arm and rubbed small circles hard enough for him to feel it through his jumper.

"Maybe a good sleep will do you good instead," she softly spoke, "you know how he likes solving things at all sorts of the day and night."

"But he never goes without me," Johns voice was beginning to get raspy. He checked his watch, 11pm. He sighed and looked over at the bread, "Maybe a bite or two will do me good. Seems bad of me to put you throughall that work and to not enjoy it."

John walked over to the table and had a bite of bread with the warm butter, "Mmm, thank you. It's delicious."

Mrs. Hudson softly smiled and clasped her hands together wondering where Sherlock was as well.

* * *

A deep chuckle came from the well suited man as he turned away from Sherlock, disappearing into the darkness. Sherlock walked the other way with bag in had, smushing it with his fingers and trying to decide whether he should have it now or later. But before he could leave the building, he heard a faint voice, almost singsong as he turned his head to hear better,

'Sherlock sat on a wall,  
Sherlock had a great fall,  
All of 'Crofts horses and all of his men,  
Couldn't put Sherlock back together again.'

* * *

The dectective busted through the door and clambered up the stairs. He was welcomed with Mrs. Hudson and John crying out his name. They had smiles on their faces and arm open wide for hugs, but Sherlock walked passed them and turned towards his bedroom. He kept hearing his name being repeated over and over, 'Yes, I know who I am. Yes, I know I'm home. Yes, I know you want to know where I was, what I was up to.'

He slammed the door and quickly locked it. Knocks came in loud and clear as soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, "I need my space! Leave me alone!"

"Sherlock, we want to make sure you're okay," John boomed through the door. Sherlock got out his bag of powder and went over to his desk, scrambling for a knife. A letter opener would have to do. He used the edge of the table to make lines.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm fine."

"Mrs. Hudson is crying over you downstairs. At least confirm it for her," John slammed his first on the door as Sherlock bent over the table, his nose at the ready, "Stop being a damn dick all the time," his footsteps led away from the door and down the staircase.

The words, the hurting words, began swirling around his mind again. Once again reminding his that he's useless. He snorted a line, 'You are pathetic, and lonely, and worthless.' And another, 'Who actually cares about what you have to say?' And another, 'Sherlock Holmes is not a true detective. He's a liar. A fake.' And another, 'You will never be loved, barely even liked.' Each line hurt him worse than the once before.

He mind swerved in all sorts of directions. He fell backwards, loosing balance and slowly tried to climb onto his bed. After succeeding in doing so, he sat on the edge once again and held his head in his hands. He could visually see the words in his vision and the man in the suit- 'what was his name?' began reciting them in a cold, dark voice.

A crash happened, but he barely moved. A loud bang and wind swept his hair the left side and slowly fell down his face as he slid farther down into his hands. His back ached, his spine twisted. He felt each bone move, and felt each of his glands give a sweat bead onto his skin. He felt the beads fall down his body like rushing water. Until-

'JOHN.' appeared in his mind. Big, white uppercase letters against a black backdrop flashed before his eyes. He quickly opened them and jerked his head up. He felt pressure onto his spine, just a small patch and soon began hearing soothing words.

Sherlock slowly sat up, his aching back in pain. He felt each bone in his spine correct itself. John's arms went underneath his own as the other man embraced him from behind. Sherlock leaned back onto John and rest his head on Johns shoulder, looking towards the others neck.

Johns grip became tighter and his scent against the detectives more alive, "Sherlock, what the hell did you do to yourself?"

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, he eyes felt droopy and his body and breath heavy, "I'm so sorry."


End file.
